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I spend days convincing myself I deserve love, that the world and the people in it aren’t just watching and waiting to pull the rug out from under me. I spend hours repeating to myself that it’s not an agenda-my job status is my own doing. I guard myself from completing magnum opus’ in my head about accidents and how I’d save everyone, or how I’d react if it was the end of the world or someone tried to take that woman’s purse 3 seats ahead of me.

It’s fucking tiring. It’s exhausting, staying on top of my own shit, and maintaining the happy facade, being friendly and caring and nice when all I want to do is start screaming and not stop until Thursday.

These are the things that trigger the bad thoughts, the end game thoughts-this incessant argument inside me. It weighs on me, like a death or a hung jury. The knowledge that the rest of my life will include this, a bipolar monkey chilling out on my back, slowly strangling me. Being allowed to see normal every so often? It makes me want to crawl back into the safety of crazy, and allow it to swallow me whole.

Being conscious of my petty delusions and paranoias is 10X worse than just being completely bat shit. Because I’m mostly normal. I’m mostly ok, and I know when I’m not and then I have to wrestle and I hate wrestling and I hate being humourless and boring and ugly and I hate that I can’t stop any of it and I’m possessed by it, driven almost, and trapped by the knowledge that I can’t make it stop, and eventually, all things in my life will fall away, scared or tired or angry or just plain old done with it.

I would run away from me if I could.

There is no glory in this fucking monkey, as someone else I know as said, no art in it. It is a glacial landscape, worn smooth and sterile by waves and white-oceans of bleached cold. I live there, I huddle there, fighting of the worms of thought that try and settle. It’s cold and lonely, and it wears me out. There is nothing remotely awesome about what’s wrong with me. I’m sick. I’m ill and I’m getting so fucking sick of being so close, so close to normal I can nearly touch it, only to feel myself being pulled back by hands I can barely, if ever control. So close to the life so many people live without thought, and yet not there.

I have to be so careful. I need to hold close my thoughts and feelings, analyze what I’m feeling, dissect how I’m going to react to others, bite my tongue from the horridness I hold inside me, the utter cunt that I have been. So fucking cautious, so brittle.

I’m tired. Whispers, stories, nightmares in my head-I’m tired of all of it. So worn from it. Today, it’s won-it’s wearing me down and I’m alone with it and all I can do is succumb or fight.

11 Responses to “This rant brought to you by the letters “M” and “P””

I know this feeling. I may not know it to the extent that you do, but boy do I hear ya. I wish I had something more profound and useful to say but I don’t right now. Just know that I’m thinking of you, and I think you’re pretty remarkable to be able to have fought for this long, and I think you’re pretty damn strong. I have days where everything just feels pathetic and pointless, and I read your writing and you inspire me, so thanks.

I think for some of us, who aren’t stopping to watch the rainbows and smell the flowers everyday, we have to accept that the world is a big stinking pile of manure and make the best of it.
Rainbows and flowers aren’t enough for me.
What’s enough is to know that I’m a fighter. I’m not going to give in that easily. I’ll bloody well scrape and claw my way until the bitter end, if that’s the route it goes.
I think you’re a fighter too. And I think you’ve got things to fight for.

I think your monkey needs a time out. Too bad it is not as easy as that when it comes to mental health issues.
I still maintain that there are other factors in yor life precipitating this downslide. Oh yeah. And if your weather is anything like tmy weather then you gotta be down. its gotta have an effect.

You sound exhausted by it all. i wish I could wave a magic wand and poof. it all goes away. me first tho okay?

As Anne Lamott says, treat yourself like a beloved relative. Instead of judging yourself, be gentle and compassionate toward yourself — instead of judging yourself for judging yourself, be gentle, and so on.

I get tired of fighting, too, although some of the things I fight are different in kind or degree from yours. Right now I’m tired of cognitive dissonance and the bewildering array of different ideas and reasonings and evidences, even within myself.

My whole life is focused on not going ballistic right now. I want to – my God, I want to give into the swirling vortex of batshit drama and lose myself in it. But I don’t. I’m a good girl, I do as I’m told. Part of me hates it. Part of me is glad to still be capable of CHOOSING not to go batshit crazy.

Yeah. It’s funny, sometimes I almost manage to convince myself that I’m not bipolar, then I have a day like you described and I know I am and it absolutely crushes me. I’m having one of those days today and my ma and hubby are both at work and unavailable, so I’m trying to find some comfort reading blogs.

I Googled “PMS bipolar” because I’ve got both and I’m cycling like Lance Armstrong this week. I’m just a nightmare. Your post pertaining to PMS was so good, so I’ve been snooping around. THIS POST in particular almost made me cry because it is exactly what is going on my head right now. It can get so lonely, with all these thoughts in my head, always positive that no one could possibly understand me. After reading this (and the comments from others) I don’t feel so alone. It’s a sort of sad comforting feeling and I’m so friggin’ happy I found your blog.